


Night School

by paranomasia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Non-consensual werewolfy stuff, Past Relationship(s), PeterHale-Typical Violence, Sorry Scott I love you but you had to be dead for this to work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranomasia/pseuds/paranomasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on Tumblr: "Something with Alpha!Peter? Something like an AU of Night School where Stiles gets separated from the gang?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night School

“How nostalgic.” Peter’s voice drifted through the hallway, making Stiles jump. “Is this for old times’ sake? Too bad Scott isn’t here to join you.”

Stiles took a shaky breath, the memory of Scott lying on the muddy clearing popping up in his head. He shook the image off, and tightened his grip on his old lacrosse stick; “That would be your fault, wouldn’t it? What with you tearing his throat out and all that.” His voice cracked on those words, so he snapped his mouth shut and swallowed.

The laugh that followed seemed to come from everywhere at once, and Stiles spun around, growling under his breath. “I’m going to tear you apart.” He promised, as the turned again, taking a careful couple steps forward. “I’m going to fucking rip every limb of your body and watch you try to heal.”

“And here I thought Derek asked you to come and talk to me.” Peter’s voice took on a high-pitched squeal when he imitated Derek, “Little does he know you are planning to kill me. You lied to him, darling, how impressive.”

“You lost all chance on survival when you hurt my dad.” Stiles snarled, glancing inside one of the classrooms to see if Peter was hiding there. He didn’t know, he could be everywhere. At least as long as he was speaking, he wasn’t fully shifted.

“Such a loyal human.” Peter sneered, “But to kill me you’re going to have to catch me first.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Stiles replied as casual as he could. “I’m sure you’ll get bored and come find me instead. You always do.”

Another laugh filled the air, and Stiles couldn’t help the smirk that crawled up his own face. The adrenaline was coursing through his body, and it was easy to let it take over his mind. Years of fighting supernatural creatures taught Stiles that he performed best if he let the primitive part of his mind run its course, go with his instincts and plans he made beforehand.

“You know me too well.”

“Being sexually involved with you will do that to a guy.” Stiles snorted, stopping in front of the stairs in the middle of the school. “You’re very vocal in bed.”

“You’re one to speak.”

“You wouldn’t like me if I were any different.” Stiles swung the lacrosse stick on his shoulder, took the stairs two at a time. He was pretty sure Peter was hiding in one of the larger classrooms, facing the doorway. Chris had told Stiles - after Stiles had very carefully spiked his dessert, because Chris didn’t share information unless he was intoxicated - that werewolves always tended to choose a hiding spot where they could easily pounce on their prey. And Stiles was more than willing to fulfill that role as long as needed. “You’d get bored of me.”

“I could never get bored of you.” Peter’s voice singsonged through the hallway, closer this time. “You’re getting warmer.”

“Imagine how hot I’ll be with your blood on my hands.” Stiles replied easily, as he reached the top of the stairs. He quickly scanned the hallway, satisfied when he noticed the slightly crooked door further away.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

The words echoed around in Stiles’ ears, seemingly wrapping themselves around his head, over and over again. He groaned, and shook his head, closing his eyes for the slightest moment. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Peter’s words were but a whisper, stroking his cheek like a lover’s touch.

Stiles shivered, body involuntarily relaxing. He forced himself to stay focused, to not give in to the temptation of familiar numbness.  “How dare you use it against me.” 

“You taught me well.” But Peter’s voice pulled back, the sounds swirling through the air and leaving Stiles’ mind clear once more. “Why don’t you come and play?”

“Do I seem to be in a playful mood?” Stiles asked, stalking towards the open door, hand reaching inside his pocket to take out the box of wolfsbane as his mind ran through his plan. He would run in the classroom, locate Peter, pretend to play along with his game and throw the powder in his face. Then slit his throat. Threat eradicated, Peter gone, revenge executed and Stiles could go home and properly mourn the loss of his best friend. And make his father a healthy hamburger, perhaps.

When he opened the door, however, he was met with the sight of an empty classroom.

“Oh, Stiles. Do you really think I’d make it so easy for you?” Stiles spun around immediately, the box clutched in his hand, but before he could open it and throw the powder at Peter, the man’s hand was around his wrist, twisting it until Stiles had to drop it. “I’m so disappointed in you.”

“Peter…” Stiles gasped, and then there was a crack and his mind blanked.

The next thing he knew, Peter’s hand was around his throat, and he was swung through the air. He smacked against a desk, sliding down to the floor with a grunt, and the world turned black.

He woke up with the sound of the school bell ringing in his ears. As he struggled to regain his consciousness, wondering why the hell he was sleeping in school. But after a couple moments, the pain kicked in, and he realized the ringing was inside his ears. “Fuck.”

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” Peter’s voice was cheerful, filled with the amusement Stiles had gotten used to in the months they’d been sleeping together. Now hadn’t that been an awful mistake. He hated when Scott was right. He hated the fact he was right was the reason he died.

“I’d really have preferred this to go a bit more smoothly.” Peter continued, closer this time. Stiles opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred, shadows dancing through the classroom, the only clear thing the red of Peter’s eyes. “I don’t see why you had to be so  _dramatic_.”

“You of all people should know about revenge.” Stiles said, his voice weaker than he’d have liked. Peter let out a tsk-ing sound, and Stiles closed his eyes again, the ringing in his head slowly dying down.

“I simply took back what was always mine.”

“Scott…”

“Just so happened to have that in his possession. And well, he never wanted to be a werewolf. In fact, I did him a favor by taking it back.”

Stiles let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sure he would agree, if he weren’t dead.”

“Semantics.” Peter said, and Stiles swallowed away the lump in his throat.

It was silent for a couple minutes, and then Peter laughed, the familiar sound suddenly so foreign to Stiles’ ears.

“Now, you’re mine. But what do I do with you, boy?”

Stiles opened his eyes again, and blinked vehemently to clear his vision. Through the throbbing of his head he could see Peter’s figure in front of the window, the two red eyes burning brightly in the dark. Stiles moved to sit up, but had to stop when hat sent a spike of agony up his arms; Probably broke his wrist. He took deep breaths through his mouth, and tried to locate his box of wolfsbane, without taking his eyes of Peter.

“I’ll take my time with you, I think,” Peter continued, and took a step closer to Stiles, who let out a low warning growl. When exactly did growling become a habit?

“Don’t come any closer.” Stiles threatened, using his good arm to push himself backwards a little. He couldn’t see the box, his lacrosse stick was smashed into a useless pile of splinters next him, and the burn running up his leg suggested he had a pretty bad cut. There wasn’t anything he could do but try and keep Peter on a distance, hope someone would come and help him.

“Or what?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “No one can come and help you. With some luck your dad is still out cold - or maybe he died from his injuries, which would be quite sad because he is a truly fascinating man.”

“Fuck you.” Stiles spat out, anger turning his vision red. “Fuck you so very much.”

Peter crossed the last couple meters, crouching down in front of him. “You like that, don’t you?”

“The only thing I’d like is for you to suddenly burst into flames.”

“Oh, but I know you’re lying.” Peter said, a horrible smile spreading across his lips. “Remember in high school, when I asked you…”

“No.” Stiles immediately said. “I said no, it’s still no.”

“It’s funny how you think I still need your consent.” Peter’s hand was on his cheek, and Stiles turned to bite it. Tried to, anyway, but his reflexes weren’t fast enough. He must be more injured than he’d thought. Which made sense, because he couldn’t really feel his legs anymore.

“No.” Stiles said, weakly, watching helplessly as Peter took Stiles’ wrist in his hand. “No, don’t.”

“Oh, Stiles.” Peter pressed a kiss on Stiles’ palm, before flipping his hand over, pushing up his shirt to bare his wrist. “You never really had a choice.”

Stiles couldn’t do anything but scream.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://rumpelstiles.tumblr.com/). Rebloggable version of this fic is [HERE](http://rumpelstiles.tumblr.com/post/67856266391). Thank you for reading!


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